Their First Meeting
by lulat
Summary: The moment that Molly first met Sherlock Holmes. Hope you like it!


The first time I met him I fell in love with him.

I'm not sure how it happened. One minute I was in the middle of a post mortem on a middle aged man and the next second I looked up to see a figure standing in the doorway to my autopsy, wearing a long dark coat and a look of excitement. I was surprised. No one tended to come down to see me without ringing to tell me they were coming. And even then they usually brought a body, or wore a uniform.

But here stood someone new; a dark haired, tall, attractive man who glided into the room and simply said to me.

"Mind if I have a look?"

I was surprised. I didn't know this man and suddenly he was demanding to view a body without offering me any identification, or introduction. He just stood there and waited almost, expectantly, for me to give him permission.

"I-I'm not sure..."

"It's alright Molly. He's with me!" I heard a yell from the corridor and Inspector Lestrade walked in with a look of annoyance on his features.

"I told you to wait for me!" he exclaimed to the stranger.

"Waiting is boring. There's a murder going on here. Much more exciting!"

"Murder?" I found myself asking.

The man turned to me and gave me a look of disdain.

"Yes murder!" he pulled out a magnifying glass from his coat pocket and began examining the body of the man in minute detail. "I don't suppose you've determined the cause of death?"

"Oh, um, no..." I stammer, finding myself distracted by the length of his eyelashes as he blinks ever closer to the dead man. "I-I hadn't quite finished yet."

"Well, no need for further examination. It was poison. Arsenic I'd say at a glance. The wife put it in his dinner. No surprises really, he was having an affair and she found out. Poison is a woman's method of murder I've always found. There's something quite sly about it that appeals to the female sex."

"I'm sorry what?" I gasp. Lestrade just gave me an apologetic look and turned back to the man.

"This is ridiculous! Where's your evidence! I brought you down here on your little whim, and I entertained your stupid idea but this is...it's insane! You can't determine a cause of death just from a five second examination and you can't argue that there's any proof for what you've just claimed!"

The man looked up at Lestrade and simply said, "When have I ever been wrong about these things!" Lestrade remained silent. "Look at him, really look!"

I find my voice at last, determined to regain control. It is my autopsy room! Well it's mine and Dr Fuller's morgue but even so...

"Who are you? What are you doing? Is this a joke of some kind?" I ask.

The man turns to face me. Really look at me and for a moment I get a little lost in his eyes as he looks me up at down.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Molly Hooper." I say.

"Well," he rolled up the sleeves of his coat a little and pushed me towards the body. "Look here Molly Hooper." He says gesturing to the body. "Look there! What do you see?"

I stare blankly at him wondering if he's being serious. I find myself shocked at the warmth of his fingers as they pushed me forwards. He sighed in exasperation and declared.

"A man!" he waved his arms in animation as he continued. "A man who is clearly married, we can see that from the faint tan line round his ring finger.

However, the tan line is quite faint for someone who's been on holiday recently – that we can deduce from the cleanliness of his fingernails. His hands are covered in scars which suggest manual work however his nails are clean so this shows that although he does manual work he's had a break from it recently as otherwise his nails would also be in a state of disrepair.

Anyway, the tan line from the wedding ring is faint. This suggests also that he hasn't been wearing his ring whilst on holiday. This clearly means that he hasn't gone with his wife otherwise he would have been wearing the ring the whole time. Must have gone with a lover then. This must of course be the motive for the crime. It's clearly a crime of passion as women don't often commit murder unless they think they've been wronged in some way. And this woman clearly felt that she'd been wronged.

How can you tell it's the wife and not the lover? Well if she'd known him intimately enough to have cooked him food and for him to have eaten it with such enthusiasm shows that he must trust her. You can see the marks in his beard from his last meal. And men don't trust their lovers; they have too much to lose if things go wrong. So obviously the wife was the one who fed him.

And how do we know it was poison? Well like I said he wasn't thinking about what he was eating. He knew that she must have found out about the affair whilst he was away - probably left something incriminating behind. It made things much easier for her to slip some arsenic into his food. He wasn't going to complain about the taste when he'd just spent five days in the Caribbean with his lover. So he just accepted it and of course that was his downfall. She watched him eat his way to his death and then woke up the next morning ready to play the role of the distressed wife.

She rang the police and I suppose that was her mistake. Thinking that no one would spot it, but when she walked out of here I saw it straight away. Oh she played her part well, but it was the make-up which gave her away. Mascara, eyeliner, it had run all down her face. I suppose she thought it would give a good effect. The grieving widow. But, no widow who misses her husband puts that much make-up on. No woman who pays more attention to her appearance after the death of her husband should be trusted. And it's clear she didn't wear make-up before as the eyeliner she was wearing today was far too uneven for her to be practised at putting it on. No, as I told Lestrade she was clearly responsible for his death. I only needed to see the body to make sure. It's a good job I saw her on her way out of here."

There's a moment of stunned silence when I'm unsure of what just happened. Lestrade simply looks annoyed. I can't understand why.

"But, that was...impossible!" I find myself gasping.

"Not impossible." He says and a small, satisfied grin reaches his lips, "Just deduction."

He pulls himself up to his full height and turns to Lestrade.

"I'll leave you to sort out the finer details! She's not a risk so arrest her quietly." he says and turned and walked out of the room.

"W-What was that?" I stammered.

"That!" Lestrade said, raising an eyebrow. "Was Sherlock Holmes."


End file.
